


The Calamity at Galdin Quay

by Asidian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day At The Beach, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Poor Ignis is the Only Adult, Water Balloon Fights, Water Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: From the way Prompto brings it out, you'd think it was made of gold.It's not. It's made of plastic. Bright, neon yellow plastic, with an ovular section in equally eye-blinding green. It's a gun, sure – but it's a gun designed for five-year-olds to harass their brothers and sisters in back yards during the long, hot days of summer. He can even see the water sloshing around in the holding tank."Prom," Noctis says, deadpan. "That's a toy."





	

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little bit of fluff stemming from a very amusing conversation.
> 
> It's about time I wrote something for this fandom that wasn't full of terrible things.

"Dude, check it out!" Prompto appears on the sand below the haven seemingly from nowhere.

He's winded, which Noctis assumes means he sprinted down the beach. His hands are tucked behind his back, so far from his usual casual stance that it's instantly obvious he's hiding something, like a kid waiting to give his parents a painstaking new craft project. "I just picked up _the_ latest and greatest from the best weapons guy on the coast."

Noctis is in the middle of pulling open one of the folding chairs; he glances sidelong at Ignis, gauges that yeah, he can probably get away with slacking off, and straightens up, leaving the task half-finished. "The guy in the truck? He's kind of the only weapons guy on the coast."

"Not that guy. Another guy." Prompto's grin is a study in excitement. "Got a super secret stash for only the customers he really likes."

Noctis frowns down at him. "That sounds, uh."

"Dubious," Ignis cuts in smoothly. "And might I ask where in our budget you found the gil for a new weapon?"

Prompto rocks back on his heels and gives his head a shake. He's grinning, the way he does when he gets an idea that's probably going to turn out to be a terrible idea. Noctis knows. He has firsthand experience. "Guys, come ooon. Quit wrecking my reveal."

Noctis lifts an eyebrow – feels the corner of his mouth quirking up, despite himself. He glances over to Ignis and finds his expression mirrored there, albeit with a touch more exasperation.

"Very well," Ignis says. "Let's see it."

From the way Prompto brings it out, you'd think it was made of gold.

It's not. It's made of plastic. Bright, neon yellow plastic, with an ovular section in equally eye-blinding green. It's a gun, sure – but it's a gun designed for five-year-olds to harass their brothers and sisters in back yards during the long, hot days of summer. He can even see the water sloshing around in the holding tank.

"Prom," Noctis says, deadpan. "That's a toy."

"For the _unimaginative_!" Prompto's hands are cradling the thing like it's a chocobo egg ready to hatch. "Just picture the damage it could do to a red giant."

Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose. "And tell me, how much did this masterpiece of modern weaponry set us back?"

Prompto waves his free hand, absently, like it can keep away the protest. "Like fourteen gil. I got it, Ig. I didn't even raid your piggy bank." He lifts the gun to one eye and stares down imaginary sights. "But seriously – red giant. Just picture it."

Noctis snorts.  "I'm picturing you getting grilled like a salmon in that thing's fist."

"Who's getting grilled now?" says Gladio, and Noctis glances over to see that he's finally joined them, arms laden with the tent and the rest of their camping supplies. He deposits them on the ground in a heap and straightens up.

"Definitely not me," Prompto puts in, a little too quickly. "But okay – okay. Forget the daemons."

Ignis lets out a tiny, relieved sigh. "It's heartening to know that some sense prevails."

But Noctis knows sense isn't likely to prevail for long, not with that patented bad idea grin tugging at the corners of Prompto's lips.

Sure enough, Prompto whips the gun around with a crow of delight. "Instead, picture what it could do… to Gladio!"

The stream of water from the gun is surprisingly strong.  And Prompto's aim is, well – about what you'd expect from someone who spends his days relying on speed and accuracy to keep monsters from taking his head off. The upshot is that there is a long, ominous moment when Gladio stands, dripping, and Prompto is entirely too pleased with himself.

Then Gladio says, "Camp setup's gonna have to wait, Ig."

And he takes off after the blond, who disappears with a yelp over the lip of the haven and then reappears on the sand a few seconds later, sprinting like crazy.

This time, there isn't anything like relief in Ignis' sigh. "I suppose it will be just the two of us, then."

Noctis glances toward the pile of camping equipment. He glances to the beach, where Gladio has Prompto in a head lock and is dragging him, slowly and inexorably, toward the waves.

"I dunno, Specs. I'm thinking he might need some backup out there."

And before Ignis has the chance to open his mouth, a shimmering sword appears in Noctis' hand, and he hurls it down into the sand, halfway across the beach. An instant later, Noctis is there with it, stumbling into a run.

The fight drags on for most of the afternoon.

Prompto is an absolute menace with that gun, all pin-point precision and fancy footwork. But Gladio – Gladio's pure strength, and he has the ocean at his disposal, whenever he can get ahold of his opponents long enough to drag them in and dunk them.

At one point, they break so that Gladio and Noctis can also visit the "best weapons guy on the coast," and Noctis picks up some empty balloons. He fills them with tap water from a spigot on the side of the caravan, and when he re-joins the fray, Gladio and Prompto both learn exactly how dangerous Lucian royalty can be with the combined might of warp strikes and water balloons. Noctis is fairly sure the oath Prompto swears invoking the Hydraen is blasphemous in three different countries – but he manages to knock Gladio from a rock outcropping straight into the water immediately after, so maybe the goddess of the seas appreciates the attention.

As the day rolls on, the other beachgoers clear the sand to get out of their way. Whole families retreat to the pier, watching and laughing and placing bets; there is no dry haven left available, no way to escape the apocalypse of water that covers every square inch of sand, but it _is_ a very good free show.

It's nearly sundown by the time they've worked their way back toward the campground. Noctis feels wrung out, like someone twisted too hard on an over-saturated towel, and Prompto's drooping like a wilted flower. Gladio, of course, is still in fine form. He's in his element now, pushed past the point of endurance, smirk self-satisfied when he tells them this probably would have gone better for them if they bothered to train in the morning.

All Noctis wants is to get one last hit in. Just one, preferably right in the mouth, to wipe that smirk off his face. And if he still had energy left, it would have worked exactly as planned. His sword digs into the sand when he throws it, right on target, and he hauls back the water balloon, ready to let fly. Then he warps – and his magic stutters, just out of reach, the way it does when he's stretched himself too thin.

The awkward landing sends the water balloon tumbling from his fingers.

It goes up and up, into the air, in a perfect arc.

Three sets of eyes follow it, mesmerized and horrified, as it comes down on Ignis' head and bursts open.

There is a moment of stunned silence. Noctis notices, with some small amount of guilt, that the tent has been pitched and the cookware laid out and the fire started. And yes, sure enough – a little array of snacks are set out for them.

There's charcuterie on toast, and mini luncheon meat sandwiches, and roast mushroom skewers.

Every square inch of it is now soaking wet.

"Specs," Noctis starts. He glances to his side and sees that Prompto and Gladio wear identical hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expressions. It would almost be funny, if Ignis wasn't taking off his glasses with deliberate slowness.

Prompto moves first – drops his precious new water gun to the glowing runes of the haven and steps over it to get at their supplies. After some rustling, he comes out with a towel that's ragged but clean. It's supposed to be for the all-too-frequent occasions they get stuck out in a downpour and then have to clamor into the Regalia, dripping and shivering, but he seizes it now and circles over to Ignis.

"Hey," says Prompto. "No harm done. Soggy toast's still good, right?" He has to step up on one of the surrounding rocks to get the necessary height, but he flops the towel over Ignis' head and pats nervously, to dry him. "It's just like bread."

Gladio snorts, and he ambles in closer to the fire. With the sun sinking below the horizon and the breeze starting to pick up, it's grown suddenly colder. He holds broad hands up toward the flames. "You hear that, Iggy? Charcuterie and bread. It's a new recipe."

Prompto gives a nervous laugh at that – pulls back and sets the towel into Ignis' hands. The advisor's hair is an absolute wreck now, the spiked front portion not only flattened and damp, but rubbed into disarray.

Noctis stares at him for a long, silent moment. "Sorry, Iggy," he says at last. "How about you sleep in tomorrow? We can make breakfast."

"And pack up the camping gear," Prompto puts in, with a hopeful smile.

Ignis lets out a sigh. It's a sigh Noctis knows very well from his younger years. It's a long-suffering kind of sigh, and it seems to announce to the world that his life is very hard, and really, he wouldn't put up with this sort of thing if he didn't have quite such a soft spot for incorrigible princes and their terribly immature retainers.

Noctis could probably write an English-to-sigh translation book, at this point.

"Very well," Ignis relents, at last. "Get out of your wet clothes, the lot of you, and eat something. You've been tearing across that beach since noon, at least."

Soggy toast, it turns out, is not just like bread. But they eat every bite and swear it's amazing.


End file.
